Our Little SuperStar
by MagpieDreamer
Summary: McWeir, implied Sheyla futurefic: Who'd have thought they'd spawn a singer?


**Our Little Super-Star**

AN: This is the second in my series of vignetts set twenty five+ years into the future of Stargate: Atlantis. You don't have to have read the first one, Poetry in Motion, to understand this one, but it might help, and you might get a little of the continuity, as the first one sets up the relationships a little more. This fic goes a little more in the general situation for Atlantis at the moment, in case you were wondering what had happened to the Wraith and what was with the kids and so and so forth.

But, taken entirely seperately, (which it can be) it's just a sweet little fic about Rodney, Elizabeth and how they've mellowed in their old age (well, Elizabeth has mellowed... as for Rodney... let's just say that some things never change... ;) ) Anyway, have fun, and leave lots of reviews! Oh, and thanks to Shootingsilverstarlight, for adding Poetry in Motion to her 'favourite stories' list! Yay! -is flattered- :D

Disclaimer: The kids are mine. The others aren't. Don't sue me. Seriousely. I have no money, so it sooooo wouldn't be worth your while. All I have is my cat, and you don't want her, trust me. She stinks. She's cute, but she stinks. And she leaves dead mice in your shoes. I love her, but she does. So yeah. Don't sue me.

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"Un_believable_!" Rodney McKay flung up his hands, "not only did we spawn a poet, we spawned a _singer_!"

Elizabeth, at his side, smiled wryly, "congratulations, Rodney. Our son is a super-star."

"I need a Beckett-ism," Rodney put a hand to his forehead, "I think 'Bloody Hell' will cover it."

Thomas was rehearsing with the band. Since being declared an official colony of Earth and her allies, Atlantis's community had set up a host of evening entertainments, the most popular of which was still the 'live music' event held every Friday night in the main events room in the south wing. The children who had been born on Atlantis, the eldest of which were now in their early twenties and late teens, had inherited a peculiar array of musical talents and traditions, having sprung, as they had, from what was now the galaxy's main melting pot for all the various cultures and heritages in the area. They loved to display these, showing the vast gene pool they haled from.

Atlantis now played host to a huge number of people from it's neighbouring planets, besides those from Earth, who had been forced out of their homes by the final apocalyptic battle with the Wraith, some fifteen years ago. The children had grown up with throngs of languages, histories, traditions and cultures to content and get to grips with, and they had embraced it. A new generation was emerging, children with parents from Earth, and parents from all over the Pegasus galaxy. Children who had been born on Atlantis, or had lived there so long that they could hardly remember their place of birth. Children who came from nowhere but here; not refugees, asylum seekers, travellers or lost sheep. They were the first generation of Atlantians, and they were very proud of their multi-racial heritage.

Tonight's performance was not the first time Thomas had stepped up to the mike, but usually he was in the background, covering for someone who'd had to pull out. He would play guitar or fill out the vocals. Never had he been so in the spotlight, and it was clear, now he was getting into the swing of things, that he was loving every moment of it.

The rehearsal was going well. The band had a variety of instruments from all over, including a piano, which someone had, at some point, brought through the gate. Thomas was conducting them as if he owned the place, setting a peculiar salsa rhythm which had the moderate audience, who would turn up to watch rehearsals and help set up for later that night, tapping their feet.

He got the backing singers to snap their fingers, "like this, and give it a little… you know… yeah, like that," and the three young women quickly got into what they were doing.

"When did he discover salsa, anyway?" Rodney asked.

He and Elizabeth were on the sidelines, drawn by the curious intensity with which their son had set about feverishly writing his set for tonight's performance, over the past couple of days.

Elizabeth shrugged, "I think I remember him getting some tracks off the Vertilos…"

"Great. The Mexicans." Rodney sighed, "I might have know…"

"They're Brazilian," Elizabeth corrected. Once Atlantis had been freed from it's military status and declared a semi-independent settlement in it's own right, she had been elected as Governor by a land-slide, and she made it her business to know all her citizens by name and nationality, though this was becoming increasingly difficult, as they were now over three thousand people strong, and growing.

"Does he even know what he's _implying_?" Rodney asked, eyebrows raised.

Elizabeth smiled, "oh, I think he knows _exactly_ what he's singing about."

"Oh, God, he wrote it about Sheppard junior number one, didn't he?" Rodney realised, going pale.

"I believe so," Elizabeth agreed, mildly.

Rodney buried his head in his hands, "John's gonna kill me!"

"Oh, I don't know…" Elizabeth was watching John from across the room, as the ex-serviceman did a little shoe-shuffle to the beat, whilst pulling a table into place, "I think he likes it."

"He wouldn't if he knew who that 'lady in leather and lace' who 'knocks him down, roughs him up, twists him inside out' then 'leaves him gasping for more' is," Rodney said, still looking ill.

Elizabeth just smiled. She found the situation deeply amusing. She was also fascinated by the transformation of her little boy into a teen heart throb. He was so shy and quiet normally, pale faced and fair haired, with Rodney's watery blue eyes behind frameless glasses, permanently jammed onto his nose. Now there he was, deliberately mussed up hair, casual grin, extrovert attitude, jazzing about on the stage as if he'd never been anywhere else.

Where, exactly, had it come from? And where had it been, all these years?

"Hey, cool song, huh dad?" Alison had appeared, doing little dance steps. This was high praise indeed from the teenager, who seemed to have only two moods: neutral and sulky.

"Uh, yes, very cool," Rodney nodded absently.

Alison rolled her eyes, and turned to her mother, "he wrote it about Matti, didn't he?"

"I… wouldn't like to say…" Elizabeth didn't know how healthy it was for Alison to think of her big brother as having the sort of thoughts he was singing about, let alone about anyone else on the base, and particularly not about someone with whom Alison was friends. The two Sheppard-Emmagan girls were like sisters to Alison.

"He _so_ did," Alison said, emphatically. "It's kinda obvious. I wonder what she'll think?"

"I wouldn't like to say that, either," Elizabeth told her daughter.

"Have you seen John and Teyla dancing?" Alison asked, "they're _so_ cool. They're like… definitely not normal grown ups."

Elizabeth, eyebrows raised, looked to where Alison was pointing, and saw that, indeed, John and Teyla had taken to the dance floor. They were like that. Somehow, they had managed to hold onto that spark of youthful exuberance within their marriage, the one that had always flowed through John's veins, and that Teyla had caught, somewhere along the way. They danced, keeping up with the rhythm effortlessly, laughing at each other as they went, jibing and teasing like teenagers. John dipped his wife expertly, displaying a slight flare for the melodramatic, and the people on the stage wolf-whistled and cheered appreciatively. Even Thomas broke off in mid verse to laugh and applaud, "the Sheppards, ladies and gentlemen!"

"How do they do that?" Rodney asked, exasperated.

"They're unique," Elizabeth smiled.

"I gathered," Rodney shook his head.

Alison, in a rare display of high spirits, was grooving along on her own, snapping her fingers over her head, the rows of bangles on her arms (a recent trend amongst the Atlantian youth) chiming merrily. "I told you they were cool!"

"What, you want us to dance too?" Elizabeth asked.

Alison looked horror-stricken, "Good God no!"

"Didn't think so," Elizabeth smiled, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Come on, little sis!" On stage, Thomas called for his sister, hands outstretched.

"Me?" Alison looked up in surprise. Perhaps because of the above average five year age gap, Thomas was an affectionate older brother, but he rarely involved her in his social life.

"How many sisters do I have?" Thomas asked, over the continuing salsa music, "come on!"

Alison happily leapt onto stage. She would never admit it, but she loved when Thomas paid her attention in public.

They sang together, sharing the mike and barely containing their laughter as they somehow managed a vague imitation of the salsa whilst carrying the lyrics (Alison knew all the words; Thomas had been singing them none stop for the past week as he tried to write them). Alison wasn't as much of a singer as her brother. She wasn't tone-deaf, but voice wasn't exactly the most endearing of her qualities. She sang lustily enough, however, the tune backed up by her brother and the band enough for it not to matter if she was slightly off key.

Elizabeth laughed, amazed and amused and glad to see her children having so much fun of their own accord. She took Rodney's hand, and pulled him into a less energy intensive rendition of the dance John and Teyla were pulling off. Rodney had two left feet, but he could just about manage the sedate pacing Elizabeth kept him to. He put a hand to her waist and hugged her close, secretly glad of the chance to keep her near, something that rarely happened during the day.

Thomas nudged his sister, "look at mum and dad."

"Oh, gross," Alison wrinkled her nose.

Thomas laughed, "they're kinda sweet."

"Yuck." Alison would have folded her arms, but she was too busy dancing.

Thomas laughed, and swung her round, "But it's okay for John and Teyla?"

"That's different," Alison told him, over the band, "they're cool. Mom and dad blatantly aren't."

Thomas just shook his head, and smiled, "sing up, little sis!"

Everybody else kept dancing.


End file.
